


All the Stars

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-25
Updated: 2005-11-25
Packaged: 2019-01-19 16:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12413502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: With the prospect of a new baby and scattering the ashes of her deceased mother weighing on her mind, Lily steps outside to stargaze.





	All the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**\- All the Stars -**  
  
It’s past midnight. 

A road winds away into the distance, as yet unpaved but for a thinly packed layer of gravel on a path of bare earth. The sky is black and clear, and the first dusting of frost is beginning to condense on the ground. Meanwhile, the stars hang suspended above, perfectly still; there is no wind, and the night is silent except for the soft shush of footsteps moving off the roadside and into the grass. 

Lily Evans Potter is alone, bundled in a coat, scarf, gloves, and hiking boots. The tip of her nose is numb and her breath forms clouds of steam when she exhales. 

_I used to believe I could reach up and pick the stars out of the sky._

_Remember that, Mum?_

She pauses, wipes a bead of moisture off her nose, and puts her hands in her pockets. She cranes her neck upwards and stares. 

_I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. Picking the stars out of the sky, I mean._

_It seems rather silly for a grown woman to be having thoughts like this, doesn’t it?_

_But I’m twenty-one years old, and I don’t feel like a grown woman at all._

_...Then again, there never has been a definite line between childhood and adulthood, has there?_

She studies the constellations and tries to recall her Astronomy lessons. She remembers the basics, but never took the trouble to review her notes after graduation. Most of the myths and calculations are gone; she’s forgotten where to find half the constellations, and the only stars whose names she remembers are the brightest ones in the sky. 

Sirius. Arcturus. Vega. Antares. Deneb. 

_You know, Mum, I used to wonder where people went after they died, which constellation they flew up to. Whether it was random or decided by some invisible spirit._

She remembers one warm summer’s night nearly sixteen years ago, when her father took her outside with a net to catch fireflies. Her grandfather had just died, and she had been crying. The fireflies are miniature stars, her father had told her. Each one is the spirit of someone who loves you coming down from the sky to visit for the night. You can catch them and put them in a jar with a bit of grass and leaves for a while, and this way, you’ll be able to talk to Grandfather. When you’ve finished telling him what’s on your mind, just open the jar and set the fireflies free. Here, Lily. Look at this one. 

_It_ was _rather uncanny how Dad always knew how to make me feel better, wasn’t it?_

Her eyes are watering from the cold, and she wants to laugh. 

_Kids. So young and impressionable._

_Of course, I never understood until much later what Dad was trying to help me understand. And I think if I were to ask him about it now, he would tell me he was trying to give me a weapon._

_I had to arm you somehow, he’d have said. It’s a wild and wooly world out there, Lily, and if you don’t start teaching the kids when they’re young, they might never make it to adulthood in one piece. A person needs to be able to find peace amid all the chaos. All I could do was try to show you one place where you might look for it._

_...Remember that night, Mum? Perhaps you don’t, because you were with Petunia at the time. Dad didn’t take her out until later, but she was older than I was. She was more jaded. But while he was outside explaining about death to her, you were sitting on the side of my bed, explaining about life to me._

_Everyone is put here for a purpose, you said. Some people find theirs and fulfill it, and others don’t. Some lose their way terribly and never recover; others simply want to cause pain and destruction. But if you do something meaningful with your time on Earth, you’ll leave it without regret._

Lily tilts her head farther back, until the sky seems to spin. 

_After more than two decades of thinking of you as Mother, I’m finally beginning to understand you for who you were. I’d never fully grasped the depths of your strength and wisdom until now. It’s sobering to know the extent to which you’d gained those things by the relatively young age of fifty-five; but then again, I suppose I’d never appreciated the value of life experience until recently, since I myself still have so little._

She watches the stars for a moment longer, but then closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath, letting the cold metallic scent of the coming winter stream into her lungs as she inhales. 

_I’m pregnant, Mum. James doesn’t know yet, but he will soon enough. He’ll be happy about it, I’m sure; the baby is a boy. It’s too early to feel him moving yet, but I..._

She catches her breath and bites her lip against a sudden rush of tears. 

_I wish you’d lived long enough to be here for this. You’d always wanted grandchildren._

_...But for whatever reason it was that your time on Earth had to be cut short, I just want you to know you had the kind of funeral you wanted. Everyone you’d cared about showed up, and the eulogy was simple and heartfelt. Your body was cremated, and I took the ashes home after Petunia and Dad had kept them for a bit. They’re in a crimson, orange, and black urn, and they’ve been resting safely on the mantel since Dad passed them on to me. James and I are going to scatter them this coming spring. We haven’t decided where quite yet, but the field I’m standing in now may be a good place to consider. Wild irises bloom here in the spring of each year in white, indigo, and violet._

Lily bows her head for a moment and takes another deep breath. 

_At any rate, you were already gone when I found out about the baby, so I thought I’d let you know this way. There’s no guarantee you can hear me, of course, but I like to believe you can..._

_I suppose what strikes me most about all this is the realization that I’ll soon be sharing the responsibility of raising a child. They’re born so fragile, so innocent, so unassuming. What was it like for you the first time you held Petunia, knowing it was your duty to protect her until she was old enough to fend for herself? What was it like the first time you held me? Was it really all that long ago?_

_It seems ridiculous now to walk past the mantelpiece with a rag in my hand to wipe the dust off your urn; even after several weeks, I still can’t quite grasp the knowledge that your life has been reduced to nothing but a pile of ashes small enough to fit inside a three-and-a-half pound ceramic vase. It’s as if I’m touching a monolith every time I pick it up, and I have to wonder how I’m ever going to live up to that legacy._

She pushes her hair out of her face and looks up again. The constellations have moved during the past twenty minutes, almost imperceptibly, and Lily finds herself thinking briefly about parallax and trigonometry. She recalls the misery and tedium of calculating the positions of planets and the hours at which certain stars cross the zenith, and she laughs to herself and wipes her eyes. 

_If you’d asked me a few years ago whether I thought I’d still be trying to orient myself at the age of twenty-one, I would have laughed and said no. But then, I hadn’t been counting on a change like this one happening so soon. I was reckless, I guess. Unconvinced of my own humanity, much less the degree of responsibility I was volunteering myself for with each night spent with James–unconvinced that we might one day forget precautions and leave ourselves open to the possibility of having a child. Am I ready to be a mother? ...No, probably not, but if I had to state two things I think I’m beginning to understand, they would be the meaning of the lives upon which we build our own and the value of the lives we create._

_...But if it was Dad who taught me to cope, it was you who taught me how to live. For that, I want to say thank you. And as simple as that phrase is, just know that it means so much more than words can ever express._


End file.
